Slightly deaf Footman (announcing each guest in character). "Mr. Jones—the Last of the Bandies."
THE WHAT-NOT.
"Look here," I said, "this is indeed serious. The what-not's moulting."
"It's been like that for a long time," said Anna. "But I suppose it's getting worse."
"I'm afraid so. And we must have something reliable," I said, "to stand dishes and things on at meals. We can't pile them all on the table at once like a cairn. To tell you the truth," I added, "I've had my eye on an old oak dresser at Smalley's for a long time. It would be a good investment—at a price."
"Yes," said Anna; "but I suppose the price would be the earth and the fulness thereof."
"That is precisely what I propose to find out, and if they'll take anything less than thirty pounds it's ours. In the meantime," I added, "we'll dope the poor old what-not with furniture cream and see about driving it to market."
There are two accepted methods of dealing at old furniture shops. The first is to approach them, well-groomed, be-ringed and perfumed, smoking a jewelled gasper and entering the shop with a circular movement of the arm to expose the gold wrist-watch that will crawl up the sleeve at wrong moments, and to ask in a commanding voice, "How much is the—ah—oak-dresser—what?"